“If more politicians knew poetry, and more poets knew politics, I am convinced the world would be a little better place in which to live than it is…” - John F. Kennedy
Last week during the solar eclipse, I found myself contemplating the meaning of life on planet Earth, both what we know and what we do not. While I typically think about life after death, a friend suggested that I write poetry during this celestial event. And so, I did. As I have always had an affinity for the number three, I present to you the result of my musings.
I SAID
When I die let my body fly.
Book me a trip on a rocket ship
and launch me at dawn. Play some
French music and a Nina Simone song. Give me
a eulogy through a static headset. Let the
booster jets be my pallbearers and give
me a smoke plume instead of a tomb. And
everyone awake who tries to fake
some caffeinated joy can take their eyes
out of their chai latte and turn their face
to space instead.
I THOUGHT
Let me sail on solar winds over
all of the lunar seas
past crises and clouds and tranquility
nectar and moisture and fertility
even past the pyramids NASA never lets us see
until my body passes right over the moon.
Let me float like a balloon until I’m over Venus—
the reason for jimmy hats
both deity and devil and a woman
at that. Let my ship land on a mountain cap
and let my body blaze in a snowfall of lead.
I FELT
Let me bathe at 700 degrees
under storms of pure CO2.
Let me walk without shoes
on volcanic plains and wash my hair
in sulfuric rains just don’t leave me
down here. On Earth I watch
children get shot going to school
while boys and men get guns with sweaty hands.
Bury me
on a land where I can never stand
the air, I can never breathe
on a planet, I can never know
around a star I cannot see.
Let me leave this world when I am dead.